


You’re Never Alone in the Dark

by LazyAyze



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Coffee, Gen, Hallucinations, Health problems, Insomnia, Jackal needs some sleep, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-23 20:37:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17087330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyAyze/pseuds/LazyAyze
Summary: What happens when reality isn’t what it seem to be? Well, you suffer, but that doesn't mean you have to go it alone.





	You’re Never Alone in the Dark

By now, Ryad’s used to the crescent moons under his eyes, the potent smell of coffee, and the worried looks.

Trying to stay awake is always difficult, not in the sense that he’s constantly falling asleep, but rather in him trying to actually _be_ awake. The ever present sense of sleep follows him around the base day in and day out, teasing him, but it never actually comes. It weighs itself onto his shoulders, but not hard enough to make him fall.

It’s like he’s in between two worlds, between the hands of dreams and the hands of reality. Like any man would, he wishes to be taken by rest and watch sweet dreams, but alas, the churning sea always brings him back into its current, trying to stay afloat on the one stray piece of driftwood he has.

It’s like there are restraints on his eyelids. Yes, he can blink, but rarely is he actually allowed to sleep. In his vision, there’s this sort of thick layer that stands between him and the real world, like he’s under the water, blurring his vision. Things mix like watered paint, morphing together to create other colors. It doesn’t help either that the white dots love to perform for him when his brain gets to be too foggy.

He tells everyone that he’s fine, regardless of these problems.

Ryad had jerked awake this morning, next trying to get his vision to focus on the table his cheek was pressed on. For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was, but soon enough, he figured out he had fallen asleep in the canteen. Unfortunately, he didn’t get that long of sleep, seeing as everything was still dark. He struggled to sit up, his stiff joints popping, and next to him, his phone, being drained by the active flashflight, and an empty mug sat.

He visits Doc regularly, just like he’s ordered. His prescriptions are ordered every few weeks when stock gets low, and then he’s given them for use. It’s only in a dream that the pills work, because in reality, they don’t. He doesn’t even touch them now for proper use- he usually throws them out- unless he’s absolutely desperate. At some point in time, medication did help, but tiny pills can only do so much for a broken man like him.

He will admit that he’s jealous of Elena’s easy catchings of Z’s a bed over.

The Spaniard hates his bed. With his condition, there’s no point in trying to be proud, so he has no trouble letting other people see how such a simple piece of furniture tortures him. It only reminds him that he’s not allowed to sleep, reminds him of his brother, of his _weakness._ Most nights, he spends them in the canteen or outside, waiting for the sun to hurry up and rise while he sits and waits with his phone’s flashlight on and an abundant amount of coffee, unless he is somehow graced with a little bit of sleep. He used to be able to read, but as of recently, the printed letters mix together, an unknown language.

He’s so exhausted that he can never remember those who have taken it upon themselves to return him to his dreaded bedroom.

Although he’s used to it by now, Ryad is still bothered by everyone else on base constantly making sure he’s alright, or at least resting. He may be exhausted, but that doesn’t mean he’s not able to realize that he’s being closely watched. He expected nothing less to be honest. Doc’s over exaggerated and bolded reminders of appointments, Thermite’s repeated, “Hey man, sleep well?” (even if the Texan knows he didn’t sleep), and Ash’s unlike-her-suggestions of leaving training early are obvious examples. Again, he’s just tired, not stupid.

He’s in the canteen, standing at the kitchenette, talking with Castle, and watching the American make the very much needed pot of coffee. As he watches the liquid get closer to being ready, he doesn’t notice his words trailing off, his body, which he feels like he’s been casted from, swaying back and forth.

Miles braces him. “Estás bien?”

Ryad drags his eyes up to the other’s yet can’t bring himself to nod, his body too tired to function.

Behind them, the coffee finally finishes brewing as Miles walks him over to the closest table, seating him next to Yumiko and diagonal fromTina. Castle says something to the two, and almost immediately, Frost runs off and Hibana is holding him up and asking him… something. It sounds like Spanish, but he’s been submerged under the water yet again.

Whenever he is granted even a little sleep, there are so very few dreams, but there is always the tilting, spinning feeling his subconsciousness gets, forcing him to wake up way too soon.

It always leaves him confused, groggy, and so much more exhausted. Constantly having your peace ripped from you does no wonders, and so reality, just like normal, is hell. It’s probably the only actual constant nowadays.

A cup of coffee is placed in front of him. If Ryad weren’t so exhausted, he probably would have remembered the constant warnings of caffeine from Hereford’s main medical operator, but nope, he can’t think. Castle crouches down next to him at the end of the table, his mouth moving, spewing nothing but randomness. Ryad can’t bring himself to pick up the styrofoam cup of coffee before him (he would much more prefer his lovely mug if, again, he were in his right mind) and settles with dragging his heavy eyes across the room, pressure fluttering behind them. .

More figures are heading over to the table, Mira, for a second, the most obvious one. Her eyes are wide, but soon enough they’re lost, her body morphing quickly into the crowd of people surrounding him like drops of paint seconds after he settled his focus on her. At some point, he can’t even pick out who’s who anymore. His eyes, which feel like they’re chained to a heavy ball, move to a woman and a man running into the room. Behind the man, his coattails fly.

Jackal blinks, opening his eyes to a new scene. The man, who seems vaguely familiar, yet he hasn’t seen in so long, is now shining a light into his eyes, confusing Ryad beyond exhausted belief. He tries to lift his arms and swat the light away, but to no avail, his arms lay lax in his lap as if his brain weren’t wired to them anymore. The familiar man’s flashlight moves away, now letting Ryad clearly see his rapidly firing lips. Again, he can’t understand anything.

Somehow, his sleepy mind does conjure up one thought.

_He’s supposed to be dead._

Along with reality though, the mind can be hell too, for the mind is the true cause of horror.

He opens his eyes again to face the ceiling, not realizing he even closed them. In his vision, almost translucent dots of white are floating, _dancing_ for him, along to the pins in needles he feels throughout his limbs. His throat, in addition, is awfully dry.

As he lays there, he tries to remember what happened exactly, but can only remember _his_ face. He hurriedly tries to sit up, the static in his limbs screaming, getting a bit light headed, and groaning softly before he’s pushed back onto the mattress he didn’t realize he was on.

He moves his head, his neck excruciatingly stiff, to look at Doc who’s looking back at him as if he just tried to steal someone’s puppy, which Jackal would never do. Plus, there’s no animal in the room as far as he can see.

“ _Dónde está_ _él?”_ Ryad croaks, looking at Doc with wide, pleading eyes, but he is only answered with an insistent cup of water. He’d much more prefer the scorching and flowy drink that he can’t remember the name of right now, but he makes due with what he has. Unfortunately for him, laying down and drinking wasn’t that smart of an idea, causing him to spill water on his shirt and start violently coughing up his lungs.

Doc pulls him up in worry, Ryad’s muscles crying in protest, and pats his back.

“Dónde _está_ , Gustave?”

The frenchman shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”

It takes a few moments for Jackal to figure out that he’s speaking English. He curls his fingers and toes, feeling the needles under his skin. “Where is my-?” His voice embarrassingly breaks as he speaks.

Doc’s eyes fill with pure sympathy and, although he doesn’t know what Ryad wants, adds more force to the blow.

He’s not here.

Ryad knew this, but his mind has to tease him.

“You haven’t been sleeping, have you?”

“What do you think,” Jackal mumbles, upset. He rubs his face with his free hand, his unshaven beard scratching his palm. The pins and needles throughout his body have died down a bit, but they’re still there.

“Have you not been using the prescriptions?”

“They don’t _work,_ Gustave. _Nothing_ does,” Ryad grits after finishing the cup. He hands it back to the other. It’s taken from his hand, the plastic crinkling in the other’s grip, and placed on the bedside tray.  The white dots are much less apparent, but he can still make out their rendition of the Nutcracker.

“Why have you not told me?” Doc asks, cocking his head to the side slightly with a small scowl. The pity and sternness in his eyes makes Ryad feel like he’s about to puke. “I’m supposed to help you, remember?”

“Sí, I _know_ , but it’s just bothersome.”

“No-”

A spark of anger briefly flares inside Jackal’s chest. “How are you supposed to help something stop when it _won’t-?”_

“ _No_ , Ryad, it _isn’t_ .” Doc holds up his hand to tell him to stop, his fingers pressed together underneath latex. “You’ll get hurt if you just leave this be, because it’s _‘bothersome_.’ We’re worrying about you, _all_ of us, and even Six has been thinking about laying you off. Seamus and I have been trying to lead her away from that conclusion, but if you’re not going to cooperate and let us help, then you’re going to have to leave.”

The Spaniard can only huff, observing Gustave’s also tired face.

“We can try other things, _mon fr_ é _re._ You shouldn’t be having so many problems sleeping. They’ll only haunt you and make you suffer.” The gloved hand falls onto Ryad’s shoulder, such a humanitarian sign coming from the man. “We have enough pain in this damned field.”

Jackal blinks, the inside of his eyelids covering his vision for a few milliseconds, before he faces the blurry and distorted outline of Gustave. Doc gets up from the bedside and comes back with a box of tissues, him being a comfortable aurora in the dark of the night Ryad can’t help but be prisoner to.

 _“_ Vous n'êtes pas seul dans cette.”

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> Spanish:  
> Estás bien? (Are you okay?)  
> Dónde está él? (Where is he?)  
> Sí (Yes)
> 
> French:  
> Mon frére (My brother)  
> Vous n'êtes pas seul dans cette (You are not alone in this)
> 
> Uhhhhh, my Tumblr is https://ayezeeismee.tumblr.com


End file.
